An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
(Surprise! I promised updates if I did any more "early stage" snippets and I've a few to share)
Mitchell didn’t know how long he sat there, staring at nothing, thinking of nothing. All he knew was that he snapped out of it when a gloved hand landed on his shoulder, and he saw the sun had fully set.
Herrick was standing over him, dressed all in black, his face creased with concern.
“Oh, my poor boy,” he said softly. He brushed Mitchell’s hair back out of his eyes, before squeezing his shoulder again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry they did that to you.” He shook his head sadly. “I tried to warn you, Mitchell.”
He had. That was the worst part.
Mitchell refused to cry. Not in front of Herrick. Maybe not ever again, that would be better. If he cried, Herrick won.
But Herrick had been right.
*
In the aftermath of Bernie being Turned, Herrick seeks Mitchell out.